You stared, so much, intently
Prying, perhaps, believing an honest
Love with no dark motives
Parting the strands of cynicism
That dangle around my bald head
And he noticed but did not react
(forgive me if I have misled you!)
Even to appreciate your awe so deep
And full of naïve beauty
I might have said a couple more
Would do the trick
But hid behind an alien
Shell of tears perhaps not unlike
The condensation on your glasses
When you frowned and wrinkled me away
Three is freedom when anonymity
Crowds around the table
Lopsided amongst being both
Wanted and rejected by your
Secret lover’s code

I awoke from a dream of fishes
And realised the fish was I
He swam like all the other fish
With flapping gills and beady eye
His self was him and not me
But I remembered when it was not that way
My feet still twitched
The fin of me
And tears ran down towards my ears
As I lay and thought of floating
Far beneath the surface
Did he know I?
Above his house
Where wind was tide
A bird sang in my garden
Each note a bubble of air
Floating down in answer to the fish
Through me where I lay
On the reflection
Inside
Outside
And resting on my bed

The flicker of a whispered ghost
On baubled beads of glass,
Flees a world daubed dismal brown,
With mud trod over grass.

A dampness hugs the sagging sleeves
Of shoppers' weary arms:
Their stooping arch more drawn to earth
With every charmless charm.

Is inside where the magic's coiled?
Inside every ***** kitchen.
Endless chinking glasses raised with
Chunks of ice cubes glinting.

And through it all I stand and grin:
Half braced in case I fall.
I'll never last til Armageddon -
I've already hit the wall.

my soul barely sings
it rasps uneasily
like geese slowly lifting up
across murky water
webbed feet pedalling
on a wind rippled lake

hidden in the dark
folds of the city
nature squeezed
between concrete slabs
peeping out as weeds
or a scavenging ginger fox

beyond the disposable
plastic landfill routine
life thirsts and splutters
a ****** straw
in an empty pastic cup
rattling the final drops

in my dreams I have heard
celestial choirs
fanfares for men
framed in golden wreaths
too high for my grasping
hands to reach

i grew up in a small town
i couldn't wait to leave
the world seemed
so much bigger
than the small part I could see

once i left, i stayed away
a selfish odyssey
the world grew
into a garden
and the fruit fell from the trees

for all my wide-eyed wonder
i realised what i missed
but the world had
saved for later
all the parts I once possessed

now my children are the future
and one day they will leave
because my world
is so much smaller now
they'll never be far from me

All my songs are love songs
Perhaps you cannot hear
The words are woven from the strands
Of lovers’ ashen hair

My melodies are whispered
There’s barely any tune
The rise and fall perceptible
In phrases of the moon

My chords are jarring, hollow sounds
All glocke without the spiel
An empty rib cage rattling
Beneath the Catherine wheel

My rhythm’s mostly regular
A symphony of clocks
It lacks a beating human heart
Just ticks without the tocks

All my songs are love songs
For lovers to find peace
You’ll hear them in sea shells
When all the waves have ceased

"Hello, Mr Magpie
How's your wife and kids?"
He turns, head to one side
And quizzical ever
Silver seeking eye
Spies my empty superstitions.
"They're qute well,
Thank you.
My son found four spoons
My daughter, several bottle tops
My wife has built a new nest
But I feel solitary
Happily spreading sorrows"

“You’re original!” she said
As she kicked a stone across the path
We didn’t look up
We barely looked down
It was late to be out in the town
I knew we were different
But some small connection had been made
I wanted to acknowledge it
Before the moment passed
But the pressure
Of silence
“Show me your hand!”
I held out my hand
I had nothing to hide
She looked at my palm, smiled
And ran away
I looked at my palm
My foot lent on its side
Beside an old railway arch
Alone, familiar, but comforted

you are the salt
dissolved
inside me
I can taste
you in my tears

you are the hollow
sound
of breathing
I can hear
you in my sighs

you are the vital
signs
I'm living
when I feel
you in my arms

when our bold new era
first stood up
a painted face
on a makeshift stage
and flickered into life
with the rhythmic certainty
of stuttering florescence
we all applauded
enthusiastically
you recall
men of science
were there beside us
and soon our folk memories
of war and plague
scuttled off like rats
to hide inside the taboo
and now the interval bell
compels us back
but we've forgotten
what we're to do

Before I started school, I ran carelessly.
Flailing propelled my growing body
Up steps or over barely audible roads.
Oh my! Have I grown?

The wooden disk atop the May Pole
Would snag and wobble as the ribbons
Pulled taught. I barely saw the girls
Below. Dressed in white, stained by grass.

Every time we stuck, weary grownups
Picked us up, turned us round, put us down
Like whirring clockwork toys. They spoke
In hushed voices. Bad men walked free.

I am proud of our resilience. We clung on,
Little limpets that we are. Without waves,
Our rock pools glisten in the autumn sun.
We are still breathing, we are still one.

We both saw the young lovers
Stepping quite oblivious,
Holding outstretched together
Forever awkward hands.
Seems we're growing old together.
Our sorry kids now don't care to see
The stunning bluebell studded
Woods of Wanstead Park.
Does your heart swell still
With that same coy pride
When we're alone together?
Ahead of us, a skylark dips,
The dew soaked marshes
Dampening each sodden step
Towards certainty.
I am forever glad
Of finding warmth.

you enticed me to show off a little
and hammed-up your surprise
even though you smiled nicely
it felt a little contrived

Your sadness
has made you hesitant.
Unsure of the how
or the why.
And now you sit,
reminiscing on your dreams;
the should-have-dones
or could-have-beens.
A playful love, a silent kiss -
the ones that never came to be,
the ones that you only you can see.
When you've fallen from a world
that's built on lies (or so you're told)
and when the falling has no net,
no friends to rally round, or set
you straight upon the winding path,
how do
you find
your way?

We’re bare
Our words can
Chill each other
We’ll look
For every intent
Before settling on kindness meant
But when we settle
I can take joy from that instant
And slip away

I’m away without you
But I’m alone
If I’m not feeling alone
Then I’m not loyal
And if I’m not true
I’m never going to be happy

I don't want to be right or wrong
I just want to be held
I don't want to be grown up
I just want time to stop
In your arms
While you breathe in my ear
Until I fidget
But feel a little better
Afterwards

Bouquet is far too grand a word
For flowers lent against a tree.
Plastic wrapped and garage bought,
They'll never complement a vase
Or bask inside a living room
Amongst a noisy family.
Instead they'll wilt beneath achenes
From rows of careful London planes,
Their never tasted flower food
Held on with bright red sticky tape.
Stranger, brother, loving son,
Far too swiftly were you come
And gone.

At dusk, as the air stills
And the solitary bat tosses zigzags
Over neat rows of back gardens,
I can find a pause for my day.
The soft chill from the greying sky
Excites my skin with goosebumps
And ****** me into stupefied vigilance.
Venus overhead, puncturing the ether,
A single grain before the steady stream.
This same air, grasped and gasped
As we first arrive, now smothers me
Into bold passivity. Gradually I recall,
Something beyond my daytime scratchings,
A solemn profundity that earths
Me back into this ancient ground.

in the gravel by the A road
where the tarmac fades away
there’s a bloom of wild flowers
with a dusty grey bouquet

and with every passing tyre
there’s a gentle nod of heads
as the flowers close their eyes
and whisper prayers for the dead

for the highway is a promise
of the better days to come
but it’s filled with weary pilgrims
whose own better days have gone

because every travelling stranger
has a tale to make you bleed
but the heart that goes on beating
knows the place where all roads lead

so you better keep on rolling
if you want to reach your goal
but be sure to look inside yourself
as the highway takes its toll

after the velvet blackness
made born blinking fur
plucked out, top hat
the metal lights
trance white beams
from a high bolted rig
suspended perilously above
the painted plywood stage
illuminating the magician's rabbit
held scruff by his silk gloves
ta-dahs us into startled
appreciation and for a moment
we grin marvel at this thing
we knew was coming
we knew was fake
we knew would
startle us like a pop gun
before basking briefly
in the fleeting
incomprehension
before we turn
hop away, hop away

They've always been there; the perverts,
the pederasts, the paedophiles. When we

were young, our mothers knew. "Not a nice
man" or "The bad Mr ..." so and so. But they

didn't tell us, didn't warn us - they just herded
us with coded subtleties, like sheep into a pen.

We learned through whispers, slanders, filthy
rhymes and songs. But some didn't. Was it

shame which kept us ignorant? Shame that
in the grown-up world there are broken people?

We would have understood. We'd seen bullies,
heard foul deeds, sensed danger dressed up

as kindness. Yet here we are; older and wiser
but still incapable of protecting all our children.

Hold the edge of my coat
If you like we could take
A little stroll through the park
Perhaps read the paper on a bench
By the pond
Quack quack
Those ducks
Really do make peculiar noises
Somehow they look
Like they should be
Smoking cigars
With shiny teeth
And dark glasses

The parks are all much duller now
the children have gone home.
No little shrieks to spike the peaks
of every skybound swing.
No swipe of vibrant colour from
the roundabout's slow spin.
Instead the frames of metal poles
lay dormant under coats of paint
so thick and black that even
crows can hardly dare to perch.
Outside the old dogs eye us both.
Their long stares soaked
with yearning
for the real wilderness.

Bach takes a theme.
And Bach takes another theme.
Below, the first theme Bach takes.
Above, together, the themes all make,
A joyous celebration of the theme.
And finally the many voices cadence.
But then. The theme, but in
Another key. Again, the theme
But awkwardly, diminished and
Augmented. The fugal dance,
Around it wraps, until,
A flourishing.
A cadence.
Because when Bach takes a theme.
Bach takes a theme.
And plays it.

are an unforgiving itch
they stir in stillness;
scratch the skin
unsettle what
I've settled in.
It's often when I'm vulnerable
that I explore
the fragments
that they lay
  before -
like evidence of my ill intents,
your honour, what I
  should've
   could've
    would've
meant, had I only done things different...
As I stagger through this baying crowd,
their voices swell fubarbaric loud,
until I reach the fire escape
and briefly pause -
why hesitate?
Outside,
the comfort of the night,
the solid floor,
the starry skies;
anonymity will protect
me from my own
(too human)
de-
fects.

on my wakeful mornings
before my sight has lost
its foggy nighttime hue
I'm balanced unsteadily
between speckled worlds
black spots poised
like tiny lizards
in neither of the realities
that silvering glass creates

You can't say they're an imperfection,
unless you criticise the whole invention.

It looks like I'm marooned here.

I've checked the fuel; it's not good.

There's simply not enough for the journey home.

Not enough inspiration, nor enthusiasm.

Sensuality night work, but there's little to be found.

If the landscape wasn't so bleak and inhospitable, I might be able to mix some kind of cocktail. A Martini. Or a Margarita, perhaps.

Wearily, I open the door to the engine room. A familiar white light shines over the chilled glass shelves. I tell myself it's going to be okay.

it's familiar trickery
in a master's hands -
the ever falling melody
occasionally lifted
just enough
to let the sunlight
shine through

See it
Say it
Sign it
Sing it
Snort it
Short it
Sport it
Spork it
Snork it
Stalk it
Knife it
Fork it
Sort it
Sorted

just here beside the damp lakeside
where spiralled ferns do grow
I saw a string of bubbles rise
from deep beneath the dark below

perhaps the grand old pike did pass
across the grey lake bed
disturbing all the other fish
with his jagged teeth and mottled head

the surface ripples died away
returning to opaque
the silver sunlight of the day
that tarnishes as night awakes

the air hung heavy with delight
as gnats swirled round in plumes
an owl swooped overhead, his flight
announced the start of night time's bloom

When I'm little spoon,
I feel secure.
But please don't leave me
In the second drawer.

We've surely trodden
all the directions
around our house -
methodically, at times,
drunkenly, at others.

We're Minotaurs,
trapped inside.
Hooves poised,
compass needle
wavering under our
magnetic indecision.

Our walks along
the railway cutting -
a city's scar, threaded
under bridges, over bridges -
an old straight track or
urban ley line, perhaps -
is the only place
we briefly, freely,
realise how trapped
we are in this labyrinth.

I remember, as a child,
stepping off the tube
in a new station and realising,
with utter indignation,
that left and right had
cheated me.

Every city, its corners
pinned down by maps,
keeps turning if you
stand still - there is
no easier way to be lost.

true sadness is an echo of the dead
the torso arching shoulders stooped
a premonition of demise

but lie and hold with legs entwined
a cradled head reveals a nape
affection may revive

bodies are a cipher only other bodies read
canvassed touch unlocks a warmth
our spirits need to breathe

We're living the lives we led before.
Always rushing, perhaps, even, a bit

more grumpy on the wet mornings.
You said you missed our lockdown

lives. Simpler, you said. I'm not sure.
I can't compare how I felt, just what

we did. Most of the uncertainty we
shared has gone again. Our old fears,

less relevant now and our new fears
still not fully formed.

You skidded
Sideways to a stop
Gravel sprayed
Like shooting stars
Looking round
Standing proud
Astride your bike
Grinning gurning
Wide eyed
Lights behind you
Along the coast
Reflected out to sea
We laughed and skidded
More recklessly
Until you planted your face
Into the ground
Too high to care too much
A calm concern blew us
Up to A&E
We laughed
A&E
That's what we'd had
You told the nurse
As she plucked
Gravel from your cheek
With tweezers
I left later
Tumbling down
Walking home
With a tale to tell
In the morning
Physically unscarred
But properly
Mentally mental

Faceless morning winter moon
My walking makes you wander
Kiss the treetops as you pass
Bright disk above the branches

Twisted heart and sap unite
Throughout the veins of every tree
Damp leaves lay lifeless on the path
All but dust in this perpetual world

Perhaps a little part of me lies broken
In amongst the trees, behind the falling
Fading moon that promised everything
Too soon against the brightening sky

here it comes again
the swoosh
of love arriving
leaning on a café doorway
apologetically waving
aeroplane tickets
for azure places
setting toes curling
braced
for the fall
of falling
both hands holding
with faces facing

The rivers on
A corrugated roof,
Will meet the sea,
Eventually.

I am not a robot
I am only
following
instructions

I miss my paved paradise
I’d even pay the $20 admission for the tree museum
If it were still there

lying on my back
naked
like a sundial
waiting for the sun
to step out
from behind a cloud

For a moment,
I fully expected
to see God's face
staring back at me
in the onion I had sliced.
But I didn't.
Soon after,
the onion sizzled.

My city is awash with dreams,
some are painted on the walls;
they're lurid like a migraine,
lucid as a hummingbird.

My lover is a dreamer too,
she speaks a partial truth;
her words are like a fragment
of my city's only street.

She told me how she's searching
for the palaces of glass,
but every pocket map she's had
is a labyrinth of folds.

When all the squares were folded tight
and pressed upon themselves,
she walked along the creases
and fell into my world.

Beneath the neon blindness
of a piercing blue night,
we fused into a lump of clay
and lay down on the earth.

My city is a towered forest,
tearing pockets from the skies.
Crowds in heaven peer below them;
a precarious insight.

Lift me up, I am an angel.
Tie me down, I am the dark.
Let me slither with the reptiles.
Hear me cawing with the rooks.

Wrap me up, I will never fade.
Crush me, please, I won't forget.
Round me off amongst the pebbles.
Dash my head against the rocks.

I can warn you when there's danger.
I can scare you when there's not.
I am a friend to loveless lives.
I am nothing when forgot.

sat up high
away from the clatter of plates
and the brisk business of living
trying to perch
balancing between two moments
and sifting through memories
summoning them
through the little details
why are they always near the floor?
from the pauses, perhaps
where I've looked down
or childhood's elbows and knees
colouring in with arcs of the wrist
until the fragile paper bleeds

Step into the night!
Kiss your children tenderly
On the forehead
Pull your collars up behind your ears
It’s brave, fierce work
Out there, on the cutting edge
Of hedonism
I wish I could be there with you
When you awake
But I won’t be
I’ll be lamenting the passed night
Gnarling my teeth from side to side
I’ve decided
So don’t try to tell me otherwise
Or I’ll despise you for trying to curtail
My beautiful free spirit
You’ll thank me for returning whole
Then quickly **** my selfish soul

I don't know how long.
Before I understood it had changed?
An hour? A day?
The señora appeared on her balcony;
gathered washing,
glanced up,
closed the door behind her.
I blankly searched the empty sky.
A seagull swooped.
Gradually, boats in the harbour turned,
now facing the other way.
Suddenly, a new wind blew;
hot, breathless gasps of air.
No cicadas.
Silence.
A few raindrops fell like birdshit,
splatting on the stone steps.
I'm sure all these things have names,
if you were local,
you would know them all.
I have no other words.

here i am
under all my bright house lights
still hanging out
with the good dreamers

My golden girl, you fill my world
with scraps of paper on the floor.
Each small offcut leads me closer
to the masterwork you truly are.

I recognise my little foibles and I also
see my pain. My love, I dearly wish
that all you find in life is good and
free from blame. When you swing

your curls my love unfurls - briefly,
just before it's swept away. Many,
many bits of paper; only some of them
are kept. All the rest, hope for the best.

My future, sealed by a cross,
I must forever stumble.
I'm carried in a silent wave;
its dampened roar, quite lost
within a labyrinth of cul-de-sacs.
Further forward, over rocks, carved
smooth by endless years of swell.
I reach out just to try to touch,
but touching is beyond my reach.
Would you join me on this ride?
Together, when our bodies crash,
we'll know it took some other force,
to overpower the both of us.
I'd rather leave my tiller free;
let my rudder make no odds to me.